The young man
informed the ladies that the Saint was in the tabernacle, under lock and
key!
In the meantime Benedetto--although the distracted mother implored him
not to use medicines, but to perform a miracle--was comforting the
prostrate man with a few mouthfuls of the cordial Giovanni Selva had
brought, but still more comforting were his gentle caresses, and the
promise of other saving words, which would soon be brought to him. And
the pitying voice, tender and grave, worked a miracle of peace. The sick
man breathed with great difficulty, and still groaned, but he no longer
cursed. The mother, wild with hope, murmured tearfully, with clasped
hands.
"The miracle, the miracle, the miracle!"
"_Caro_ [dear one]," Benedetto said, "you are in God's hand, and
you feel its might. Give yourself up to Him, and you will feel its
gentleness. Let His hand place you once more in the ocean of life, or
place you in heaven, or place you where it will, but give yourself up,
do not think of that. When you were a little child your mother carried
you, and you asked neither how, nor when, nor why; you were in her
arms, you were in her love, you asked nothing more.
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